


Taking the Helm

by LaughingStones



Category: Homestuck, Motorcity
Genre: Bondage, Bulges and Nooks, Crossover, Detachable Helmsmen, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Helmsmen are sexual/romantic deviants and no one is surprised, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Psionic Sex, mostly offscreen tentacle sex, quadrant-smearing, to steal lildogie's tag: Helmsman technology if Homestuck were a hentai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: The Burners have just stolen a nice new ship! Mike isn't sure why Chuck's so flustered and pleased about the helm-system, but it's good that he's happy.Then Mike finds out why he's so excited, and gets pretty caught up in it himself...





	Taking the Helm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Emergency Backup](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2632877) by [lildogie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildogie/pseuds/lildogie). 



> Thanks to Splickedylit for encouraging me and Roachpatrol and Curlicuecal for betaing! Partly inspired by [this post](http://livelivefastfree.tumblr.com/post/142338752646/in-honor-of-my-main-going-totally-homestuck-crazy) by livelivefastfree, which has excellent art of the troll Burners (but with different blood colors for Chuck and Julie).
> 
> If you know Homestuck and not Motorcity, you've got this, you're fine. If you know Motorcity and not Homestuck, I… I have no idea if this will be comprehensible at all. I guess, uh, give it a shot if you want, and let me know how it goes!

The Burners won the fight: the ship is theirs now, but they need to get it moving and get out of here fast. Mike hauls up schematics on the screen at the end of a corridor, ignoring the sluggish green trickle down his arm. Chuck jitters at his side, blue sparks snapping off his arching, split-ended horns.

“There's the helmsblock,” Mike says, pointing on the screen, and his claw taps something he didn't mean to and the image changes. Chuck huffs and elbows him out of the way, prongs dancing across the screen unhindered by his short-clipped claws, images flickering as he mumbles to himself.

“Right, got it,” he says a second later. “I'll get down there and--uh. _Oh_.”

“What, what's wrong?” Mike leans in closer to look at the screen, but it's just technical specs for the helm, he has no idea what any of that stuff means.

Chuck gives a nervous buzz, then coughs, trying to cover it up. “It's, um, it's an HX-class helm, is all! No big deal, it's just, like, the rarest, most specialized and efficient and-- _Mike_ , holy crap, this is the helm-system a highblood would buy for their pet psionic, okay?” He's waving his hands in the air, sparks flying everywhere, and Mike still doesn't know what the problem is, but Chuck’s cheeks are flushed faintly yellow.

“Well--good!” Mike tries. “I mean, you totally deserve nice stuff, dude--I went for this ship cuz the helm’s detachable, but I would totally have picked it for that too if I'd known!”

Chuck makes a kind of strangled noise, his entire face turning mustard-gold, and a bolt of blue energy comes off him, zapping a little scorched mark into the wall. Mike gives him a reproachful look and he hunches, light show dying down.

“You gonna need help getting hooked up?” Mike asks, and Chuck gives a semi-hysterical little buzz-chitter and slaps both hands over his mouth, shaking his head hard. Mike has no idea what that's about, but okay.

“So, you got this? Cuz I don't know if you noticed,” Mike says, half-laughing, “but we're kind of in a hurry here.”

Chuck takes a deep breath. “I've never interfaced with an HX-class before, I don't--but! It's supposed to be… intuitive, I'm sure, um, it'll be fine.” He turns and half-runs down the connecting corridor on those long legs, then swings back around to say, “Just keep everyone out of the helmsblock!”

Mike blinks. “I mean, we're gonna be busy for a while here, dude, we've got an escape to make--”

“ _After_ that! No one c-co--no one visits the helmsblock, I'm gonna need--privacy!” He's flushing even darker, but before Mike can question him he ducks around a turn and he's gone.

Weird. Well, it's not like anyone but Mike usually visits Chuck when he's helming, anyway. Shouldn't be a problem.

He heads up to confer with Julie about their route, and forgets about the weirdness for the next busy while.

Eventually, though, they've shaken off all pursuit and they've got some time to settle in, get to know the ship. Mike fixes up the slice on his arm and then bops around, making sure everyone's okay with their new quarters, setting Chuck’s stuff out on his side of Mike’s respiteblock: he may have to stay hooked up to the helm most of the time they're onboard, but just because he almost never needs the space is no reason he shouldn't have it. He even has his own recooperacoon, even if it's empty. No point in filling it with sopor until it'll be used.

That done, Mike heads back to the bridge to find Julie going through the ship’s specs, violet eyes narrowed, ear fins flicking intently.

“Interesting,” she breathes, scrolling down.

“What is?” Mike says, coming over.

“There's something about the way this helm works--it harvests and stores enough power that the helmsman can actually decouple and take time off without reducing the ship’s maneuverability.” She looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that why you picked this one, for Chuck?”

Mike laughs. “No, that's awesome! I mean, I knew he could detach from it, but I didn't know he could take time off! I picked it for the detachable helm, but also because it looked new and kind of classy. Figured an admiral's personal yacht would be better put together than the junkers we usually run across.” Fixer-uppers are great, but not when you're high-tailing it across solar systems as fast as you can manage.

He stops, remembering Chuck’s reaction to the helm specs. “He did seem pretty happy with it, though.”

Julie smiles. “I'll bet. So he knows about the free time?”

“I… maybe? I'll ask him!” Mike says, and flops into the captain's chair to open up an audio channel to the helmsblock. “Hey, Chuckles, how's it going in there?”

Instead of an audio response, a message pops up on the screen on the arm of the chair: 

_**fine** _

Mike waits a second, but nothing else comes. Huh. Frowning slightly, he says on the open channel, “You know the helm stores some of your power? And we're fine for the moment, so you can come out whenever you want.”

“Well,” Julie cuts in, “not quite. It hasn't stored up quite enough extra charge yet, but maybe in another half hour?”

“Oh,” Mike says. “Okay, whenever you want in half an hour.”

A pause of a few seconds before the next message. 

_**out in forty-five minutes** _

Which… is fine, obviously, that's not a problem. He can take as long as he wants to get used to his new setup. But…

“Is he okay?” Julie says, frowning over her shoulder with her ear fins pricked forward in concern.

“Yeah!” Mike says, closing the audio channel. “Says he's fine.” Except that he’s not using his typing quirk and he's not talking out loud. Usually unless he's concentrating, Chuck’s happy to chat while he's helming. And there's nothing for him to be concentrating on like that right now.

“You know,” Mike says, bouncing to his feet, “I'm just gonna go check on him, make sure the helmsblock’s as nice as it's supposed to be.”

“Good,” Julie says, smiling. “I'll keep looking through these specs, see if I find any other surprises.”

“Awesome,” Mike says, and is about to walk out when he remembers. “Oh hey, can you tell the others to stay out of the helmsblock? Chuck was real particular about it, everyone should keep out. Thanks!”

As he dashes away, Julie says something like, “Everyone but you?” but Mike ignores it. Chuck is acting weird and Mike is the captain, it's his job to make sure his crew is functioning well and everything's okay. Besides, Chuck’s been in there for hours now, it's not like Mike’s going to see him making any awkward mistakes with the hookups or anything. It'll be fine.

When he gets down to the helmsblock, the door is locked. Mike scratches at the base of one horn, thinking about options, then just keys in his captain's override. He feels a little guilty about it, but by this time he's kind of unnerved wondering just what Chuck is hiding from him.

(He's so pale for the guy it's not even funny. It's not funny at _all_ , especially considering how darkly flushed that diamond is--Mike's such a quadrant-smearing deviant, it's probably a good thing he's never going to get to contribute to the drones again.)

He palms the door open and steps in, and it swooshes closed behind him. The helmsblock is dark, but there's a rustling noise nearby. Mike takes a step forward, looking around for the dim shape of the helmscolumn, and his boot hits something soft.

Chuck’s clothes are on the floor in front of him, sloppily folded. Mike stares at them. There's no reason for Chuck to take his clothes off, they've got holes for all the standard ports and a few nonstandard.

“Chuck?” he says.

The startled sound in response comes from _above_ him, and Mike looks up just as a cascade of blue sparks lights up the place.

In this ship, the helmscolumn is on the ceiling, apparently, except it's less a column than a fuchsia sprawl of organic-looking cords and cables growing up the walls and clinging to the ceiling. Chuck is up there, Mike can see the blue glow of his eyes. He's wrapped in the cables, suspended in a kind of makeshift hammock, and Mike can just make out his silvery grey skin between the cables, some of which are _moving_ , sliding over his body, making that rustling slithering noise.

“Mikey!” Chuck says, gasping like he's out of breath. “Wha--what are you-- _hhh_ doing here?” He's sparking harder, a steady stream of blue flashes skittering over his skin and being drawn off down the network of cables, enough light to show that his face and upper thorax are darker than they should be--bruised? 

...Flushed? 

“I told you to stay out!” he goes on before Mike can answer, and then he twists in the cables holding him up and makes a breathless chirring noise that makes Mike’s whole body flush hot.

Swallowing, Mike tells his bulge to keep its dumb ideas to itself, Chuck’s doing helming stuff right now even if he is naked. “I was--worried about you, dude!” he says, a little breathless himself. “You weren't using your quirk, I just wanted to check and make sure everything was okay.”

Chuck groans, half annoyance and half… something else, something that makes Mike shift his weight and swallow again. “Of _course_ you did. Of course you couldn't just do something-- _ahh_ \--c-crazy like unblock your hear ducts and _listen_ to me...”

Mike means to answer, but Chuck is putting off enough power to light up the block now, crackling blue-white bolts grounding in the cables to be drawn away, and Mike can see that Chuck’s face and thorax are flushed yellow, his skin shining with faintly gold sweat, and he's tense in the coils of cables, shifting restlessly, breathing hard. He keeps chirring faintly and then cutting it off, biting his lips with his even, pretty fangs. He's flushed and panting and sweaty and yeah, Mike meant to say something, but he has no idea what it was, and if he opens his mouth right now the only thing that's coming out is a hungry sound. He's not risking that.

Chuck takes a deep breath, audibly swallows down the little rattling whine that wants to emerge, and says firmly, “Look, I'm fine, okay? _Nnh_ \--ah, I, I'm good, the helm’s good, we're--hah!--We're getting along great, um, s-so, you can just, go wait until I--get done, I mean, f-finish--I mean no--”

And the thing is, Mike is usually pretty good at ignoring Chuck’s unintentional innuendos, but this time is different, not just because he's naked and everything but because he actually sounds flustered, like he's noticing the words coming out of his mouth… and like he doesn't want Mike to catch the other meaning. It draws Mike’s gaze down Chuck’s suspended, cable-wrapped body. The cables are thickly wrapped around his waist down to his legs, which are held apart, and now that Mike is looking in this brighter light, some of the cables that are moving are _there_ , between Chuck’s legs--

“ _Mike!_ ” Chuck says, sharp and high with embarrassment, and Mike guiltily jerks his eyes away from where he was staring.

“Chuck,” he says unsteadily, and his voice sounds strange, with thrumming undertones he can't seem to control, “what--is it _supposed_ to be--?”

Chuck lets out a shivery rasping groan and says, “ _Yes_ , this is how a-- _hahh--_ uh, an HX-class helm _works_ , okay?” He breaks off to pant.

Mike says, “And it's--okay? It, you're--you don't mind?”

Chuck’s giggle turns into a moan and he twists and bucks in the cables, crying out as they move more vigorously. Jagged blue-white shocks of electricity keep flowing from him down the cables, painfully bright, and his cries get louder and more desperate, thrumming chirrs threaded through them that make Mike’s knees weak. His nook clenches hungrily, his bulge pressing against its sheath, demanding exit.

Chuck can't manage words anymore, but Mike is pretty clear on his answer anyway: he doesn't mind this. The only thing he probably minds is Mike standing here like a pancracked idiot watching, after Chuck specifically told him to stay out.

He should go, but he's kind of frozen, dry-mouthed and hot all over, fists clenched until his claws bite into his palms, eyes fixed on the way Chuck is writhing. If Mike moves, his bulge is going to slide out with the first step. He can't, he's got to control himself, gotta keep the mess of his feelings to himself and not screw things up with Chuck, he needs to _leave_ , Chuck doesn't want him here--

In a fountain of sparking blue-white light, Chuck spasms and cries out one last time, high and cracking, then shudders gradually still. The cables shift and squirm around him. Mike catches a glimpse of shining-slick yellow sluggishly twisting between his legs, and the sight of Chuck’s bulge is what it finally takes to do him in. His own bulge wriggles out and pushes against confining cloth, and Mike doesn't quite manage to bite back the hoarse noise. His nook is wet enough it's going to soak through his pants in a minute, and he needs to go but he can't move, he _wants_ so much he's paralyzed with it.

The crackling bolts of energy have died away to crawling sparks, barely enough to see by. Twin points of glowing blue appear out of the flickering darkness as Chuck opens his eyes and looks down at Mike, and that breaks his paralysis. Turning on his heel, he heads for the door.

“Sorry,” he says over his shoulder, rasping and breathless, and then there's a metallic _click_ from in front of him. The door just relocked.

“Mike,” Chuck says, and Mike can't interpret his tone. Mike's going to regret it if he's mad, those sparks sting pretty bad when Chuck wants them to, and he's got every right to be mad right now. Mike should’ve known better, should be able to control himself, not let his stupid, mixed-up desires make decisions for him.

He keeps his eyes straight ahead on the door. He's going to have puncture marks in his palms where his claws are digging in. “Sorry,” he repeats, and there's nothing he can do about the rising and falling chirr under his voice, no way to hide the want it's broadcasting. “I didn't mean to--I shouldn't have just, come in like this, walked in on you. ‘M sorry.”

“Turn around,” Chuck says, still unreadable.

Mike takes a rough breath, forces out a laugh, makes himself move as normally as he can as he turns. “Buddy, you oughta know you don't have to lock me in here if you wanna yell at me--”

“You want to know what it feels like?” Chuck cuts him off.

“What--what feels like?” Mike says, very aware of the way the front of his pants is shifting as his bulge squirms. Hopefully it's too dark for Chuck to see it.

Cables rustle and slither and Chuck makes a rasping little chirp, pleased and anticipatory, humming low in his thorax. Mike chirps back, strangled and involuntary and kind of a giveaway. Normal crew and clade don't mirror responses like that, don't make little _I'm happy that you're happy_ noises, and a flurry of sparks shows a startled look on Chuck’s face, and something else Mike can't read before it's dark again.

“ _This_ , Mikey,” Chuck says, a second late, “helming like this. I thought you might like to know how it works.”

Mike's breath chokes off in his windchute, because that--it almost sounded like Chuck might mean-- _showing_ him, letting him watch or something, but that's gotta be just Mike being dumb, reading too much into things. Chuck’s just offering to explain, maybe trying to distract Mike from that whole thing where Chuck’s naked and--so on, by, like, telling him _why_ he's naked. Probably in such technical language that Mike’s only gonna get one word out of five, but that's okay, he can nod and look attentive. Maybe not quite as well when his bulge is coiling around itself, but the point is, he'll _deal_.

“Yeah,” he says, and he thinks he almost sounds normal. “Sure, dude.”

“You sure?” Chuck says, and maybe it's just because he's tired, worn out, that his voice is deeper than usual, a quiet, thrumming rumble under it that sounds--amused. Interested. “You gotta tell me the truth, bro.”

Mike is opening his mouth in confusion when there's a sudden prickle and fizz against his skin and a band of blue sparks wraps around each wrist, pulling his arms out from his body and holding them firmly. There's no give when he jerks in surprise, and he swallows hard. 

“You still wanna know?” Chuck says.

“Yeah,” Mike says hoarsely. “Definitely.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Chuck says, and then there's another pair of sparking bands around Mike's ankles, tugging his legs apart. 

“Interfacing is done cautiously, at first,” Chuck says, and Mike feels a touch so soft that he has to glance down at the faint blue glow sliding up his leg to be sure it's Chuck’s psionics. It brushes over his skin like his pants aren't in the way, the touch getting firmer the higher it gets up his leg. Mike is gasping for breath by the time it nears the top, and he jerks all over, chirring helplessly with want and disbelief, when it feathers across the lips of his nook.

“After all, compatibility issues might need to be worked around,” Chuck goes on, and the thrum under his voice is plainly hungry now.

“C-compati-bility?” Mike gasps, trying hard to pay attention. He has no idea what's going on, why Chuck is--suddenly interested like this, but Mike's absolutely going to play along, doesn't want to risk Chuck changing his mind.

“It's a question of individual capacity,” Chuck says. “The connectors come in various sizes, and ideally self-select to make a snug but not painful fit.”

The faintly electric touch presses against Mike’s nook, nudges inside, gently spreading him open, and he's already shaking, little needy chirrs and whimpers spilling out of him. Hanging in the cradle of cables above, Chuck groans, takes a breath and starts talking again.

“As many connections as possible are preferred by the helm, but individual preferences are easy to program in. One connection is technically enough--” the pressure in Mike’s nook moves deeper, “--but up to three is usual.” A blue spark lights up midair and dives in to brush over Mike’s mouth, pressing briefly between his lips before dissipating. He jolts as another touches down in the middle of his back under his clothes, runs down to the base of his thoracic column and--stops just past the end, a soft fizzing against the sensitive skin at the entrance of his wastechute. Mike’s face goes hot and he drops his head, dizzy with the overload of sensation.

“You prefer one?” Chuck asks, and the fizz vanishes.

Mike looks up at him, mostly invisible in the dark tangle above, and swallows, licks his lips. He shakes his head.

“ _Words_ , Mikey,” Chuck says, and Mike almost laughs, spread out and bound to thin air while his flushcrush takes him apart with his mind and still being scolded like he's gotten the wrong kind of virus-eater on his husktop.

“No, I,” Mike starts, and geez, his voice is a rasping, chirring _mess_ , he sounds wrecked and Chuck hasn't even touched him yet for real. He takes a breath. “Whatever you want to do with me, dude,” he says as steadily as he can, “I'll like it.”

Chuck makes a small, startled noise, and then the cables start rustling again. The dim shape of Chuck and the cable sprawl shifts and changes and it takes Mike a minute to realize part of the mass is lowering, shifting around until Chuck is lounging in a cable hammock at roughly eye-level. Mike can't be sure, but he thinks Chuck is… disconnected, now. The helm must be fully charged up.

“You--really?” Chuck says. “You want me to…?”

Mike gives a breathless laugh. “ _Yeah_ , dude. If there was more light in here, you'd notice how much I _want you to_.”

Chuck lets out a rapid series of chirps and claps a hand over his mouth, which serves to muffle but not stop the thrilled chirping. Mike doesn't even try to stop his soft, thrumming chirp in response.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck says, “I'll turn on the lights if you get naked.”

Mike laughs again harder, wrists tugging involuntarily against the psionic grip. “Seriously, Chuckles? All this, and you think I'm not gonna take my clothes off? As soon as, uh, you let me move.”

Chuck huffs, rattling softly in defiance. “What if I don't want to.”

Mike’s mouth drops open and it takes a moment to be able to speak without chirring. “Then, um, I--guess you can get them off yourself?”

Chuck snorts. “Right now, they wouldn't come off intact, Mike, and I'm not shredding the only presentable thorax sheath you've got.”

Before Mike can get past the pan-melting image of Chuck _shredding_ Mike’s clothes to get him naked faster, the fizzing against his wrists vanishes, dropping his arms to his sides, and the bindings on his ankles are gone too. The unmoving spark in his nook is still there, though, and as he starts to take his shirt off, the spark kind of ripples, shifting inside him. Mike jerks, making a choked noise, and gasps for breath.

“Better hurry up before I get impatient, Mikey,” Chuck says, and Mike can hear his smug smile.

He scrambles to get his clothes off in the dark, twitching and groaning between his fangs every time Chuck tweaks that little point of heat and pressure, flexing it wider or deeper or rubbing it up against the walls of his nook. Mike's bulge has practically tied itself in a knot by now, and he barely keeps his knees from buckling when another blue spark flickers over his thorax, rubbing over one grubscar and then the other. The shift and flex inside him keeps going, and Mike’s hands are shaking when he finally rips off his pants and throws them back towards the door.

“Okay! I hurried!” he says, and if he sounds desperate, he thinks no one could blame him.

Lights around the walls flicker on, and Chuck makes a quiet, intrigued chirr, the bright points of his pupils in the solid blue glow of his eyes sweeping up and down Mike, lingering between his legs. Chuck’s cheeks are flushed gold, his long limbs sprawled comfortably in the net of cables supporting him. Mike has caught glimpses of Chuck naked before, since they usually share a block, but Chuck is pretty shy about it, so Mike tries to be polite. It's really nice to be able to look, for once, enjoy the gold flush across his upper thorax, notice the shape of his grubscars, admire the jut of his bony hips and the wiry corded muscle of his thighs.

Since he's looking, Mike can't help but notice both that Chuck is a lot less sticky than he ought to be if he's been doing this for the last several hours, and that his bulge has retreated back into its sheath, which is dismaying. Mike wanted a better look to see if it was split or rippled or smooth. Not that he's spent too much time thinking about Chuck’s bulge or anything. He's just. Curious.

“Holy crap,” Chuck says in a high voice, gaze flickering between Mike's face and his bulge, which is thrashing and coiling around itself. It's spattering slightly less green on the floor than his nook, which is dripping kind of a lot, totally reasonably given the way Chuck’s been messing with it. Although he's stopped that for the moment, at least.

“ _Fuck_ , bro,” Chuck says, staring at Mike’s bulge again.

“What?” Mike says, half defensive and half exasperated. After what Chuck’s been doing for the past ten minutes, what right does he have to look surprised that it's overexcited?

Chuck looks back at his face and giggles nervously, shoves an unsteady hand through his hair below one horn. “I just--you're so--holy _fuck_ ,” he says, and buries his face in both hands, click-buzzing.

“What? Super turned on?” Mike says, and crosses his arms. “Gee, that's so weird, Chuckles, I wonder why that is!”

Chuck snorts and peers out from between his prongs. “Watch it, mister. I can make you regret getting sarcastic with me.”

Mike swallows and hopes Chuck missed the faint chirr he made at that. He uncrosses his arms and shrugs one shoulder. “I just don't get why you're surprised, dude.”

Huffing at him, Chuck straightens up in his cable hammock. Mike jerks and gasps aloud as the still pressure in his nook starts moving again in a fizzing ripple.

“First of all,” Chuck says as Mike staggers and moans, “I was going to say, you're so _hot_. And second, of course it's a surprise, dude! You're like, untouchable, especially for helmstrash like me. Come _on_. Finding out _I_ can turn you on? Even if it's really the helm that did it, I mean still, that's like--”

“Wait, what--the helm?” Mike blinks at him, trying to focus past the teasing pleasure. “Buddy, wha-- _ah!_ \--what are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, bro,” Chuck says, and Mike can tell he's rolling his eyes. “You walked in here and got all worked up as soon as you figured out what was going on. You like the idea of being all wrapped up and held still like that while the helm plugs into you, makes you feel good for hours to get the power out of you--I mean, come on! Of course you like it, that,” he falters, smile going uncertain as he studies Mike’s face, “that makes sense… right?”

So _that's_ why he was running through the details of how the helm works. Huh. Mike isn't really sure how to answer, and Chuck groans unhappily in the pause, the psionic touch in Mike’s nook vanishing abruptly, to his disappointment.

“You didn't even think about that, did you,” Chuck says, “that's a helmsman thing, not something anyone _normal_ would be into--oh shit, you only got turned on because it was like walking into a pail-inducement video, I totally misinterpreted _everything_ , I didn't even--”

“Dude, no-- _Chuck!_ ” Mike says, loud enough to cut through the chittering buzz of Chuck’s freakout. The buildup of electric blue forking off Chuck’s horns and snapping from the blunt tips of his clipped claws subsides a little, to Mike’s relief. He really doesn't want to flip pale right now (isn't sure flipping is even the word for it when the same mix of feelings is always there, but whatever).

Taking a breath, he says as calmly as he can when his blood-pusher is beating this hard, “You only got it a _little_ wrong, dude. I--it's not the helm that I'm into. I kinda thought it was obvious it's you.”

“What's me?” Chuck says blankly, and Mike rolls his eyes hard. Chuck’s mouth drops open and a crackling little shockwave rolls off him and away into the network of cables. “You--oh,” he says in a small voice.

Mike laughs softly, shaking his head. “Next time I say you can do anything you want and I want you to, I guess I gotta specify ‘because I want you, like, a lot’, huh?”

“Holy crap,” Chuck says, and lets out a shivery little chirp. Mike chirps back and Chuck clenches a fist in his hair, tugs gently to try to focus. 

“Okay,” he says, staring at Mike. “Okay, so I wasn't actually greedily taking advantage of your previously undiscovered helm kink. Because, um, you don't have one. Which still makes this whole thing incredibly embarrassing because haha hi I'm a total _freak_ and now you know exactly how much--”

“Chuckles, geez, _no_ ,” Mike says in exasperation. “Helming is what you do, it makes sense for you to like it when it feels good! Stop it with the ‘freak’ stuff. Besides,” he adds, “the helm was doing the same stuff to you as you were doing to me, right? And, I mean, _I_ liked it,” he finishes with a shrug. _Liked it_ is an understatement. His nook is pretty upset that everything's stopped, clenching angrily and dripping down his thighs.

“Huh,” Chuck says, attention caught, and his head tilts at a thoughtful angle. Mike prickles to alertness, because that's the ‘I've got an idea’ look and they're both naked right now and Mike’s wet and overheated bits are very interested in ideas.

“You like being held still, Mikey?” Chuck says, and blue sparks flicker as Mike’s arms are drawn out from his sides again, his legs pulled wide.

Mike gasps and swallows. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “when I'm--” safe, not trapped captured caught “--with you.”

“Hmm,” Chuck says, clicking softly as he considers. “How about like this?”

Mike isn't sure what he means for a second, and then he jerks in startlement as thick cables coil down from the tangle above and wrap around his wrists, holding them still as the blue sparks vanish. Honestly it's kind of unnerving, but Chuck obviously controls the cables just as easily as he does his psionics, so that's fine, Mike just has to adjust, think of the helm as an extension of Chuck.

Chuck’s waiting expectantly, so Mike nods. Chuck smiles slowly. “Even if you don't have a kink for it, you might like the helm,” he points out. “Tying you up, stuffing you as full as you want, touching you and squeezing your bulge just right--seriously, bro, it's _good_ at it,” he adds, even though Mike was already doing his best to look receptive. The whole helm-as-extension-of-Chuck idea is okay for this much, but Mike’s not sure he wants those cables actually _in_ him, touching him all over like that. He doesn't trust the helm like he does Chuck, isn't sure of its motives.

He licks his lips and shrugs agreement anyway. “I mean, if that's what--what you wanna see…” He hesitates. “I’d rather have you,” he admits, gaze flicking down to Chuck’s sedately closed bulge sheath.

Chuck blows out a long breath. “Man, I _wish_ , dude, but that's, uh, kinda not an option until I get a nap. I bet I can find you a nice substitute, though,” he says with an adorable crooked smile, and when another set of cables drops down, Mike manages not to kick out at them or snarl out loud.

Chuck wants to see him all tied up in cables, and that's fine! Mike's fine with that, it's cool. And if Chuck wants the cables pailing him too, that's okay, Mike can totally handle it!

And he's handling it fine as they coil firmly around his spread legs, he's fine as more curl down to wrap around his arms and thorax and brush up against his grubscars, making him jerk and buzz in shock. He's definitely still fine as one cable snakes down in front of him, swaying below his bulge, even if it takes a lot of concentration not to hiss at it.

“Mikey?” Chuck says, as the cable pulls back slightly.

“What?” Mike says, eyeing it carefully.

The cable retracts entirely, curling up out of sight as Chuck snorts. “Seriously, bro? You'd rather do this than admit it totally freaks you out?”

“Wha--” Mike bristles. “No it doesn't!”

The bright points in the blue-glowing eyes roll expressively as Chuck purses his lips. “Right. Your horns are lowered, fangs bared, claws ready, you're barely keeping back a snarl--” Mike coughs and guiltily swallows down the grating chitter, which okay, maybe sounds a little nervous. “--Yeah. But silly me, you're obviously fine.”

Mike slumps a little in the binding cables, shrugs.

Chuck glares at him. “Why are you such a dumbass? Is it the big brave macho fighter thing, are you trying to impress me, what?”

Mike opens his mouth to retort and almost chokes as a fizzing streak of sensation runs up his thigh and stops right on the lips of his nook, drifting back and forth as he gasps and twitches. “I-- _hh_ \--I just-- _nnh!_ ” He gives Chuck a pleading look and gets raised brows in response. Okay, okay, he can do this, he can make words happen. “I want you, and-- _ahh_ \--this is what you wanna do, s-so, it's fine! I can do it!” He sucks in a (faintly chirring) breath and bites his lip to keep from whining.

There's a moment of silence while Chuck watches him with a strange expression. “Aw, Mikey,” he sighs, and the hum under his voice is oddly soothing, makes Mike lose some of the lingering uneasy tension. “You didn't think maybe I'd want to do something you were into too?”

“But I would be!” Mike protests, and Chuck gives him a look of utter exasperation. “No, I mean-- _ah_ \--I'd get used to it, it'd be fine!”

Chuck narrows his eyes, clicking thoughtfully again. “Okay,” he says after a minute, “here's what we're gonna do.” The cables forming the hammock under him shift and flex and the whole thing glides forward until Chuck is lounging in front of Mike close enough to reach out and touch, if Mike’s arms weren't held. Chuck’s not tied up, though. He reaches out and runs a thumb over Mike’s lower lip and Mike moans, helpless and eager.

“We're going to talk,” Chuck says, “and you're going to tell me the truth. You think you can do that?”

Mike starts to answer just as the fizzing sensation teasing him presses into his nook and ripples, and a gasping cry comes out of his mouth instead of words. He pants a minute and manages, “Yeah, I--yeah! Uh. _Hhh_ \--lot easier if you weren't--mmh! Doing that, though.”

“Maybe, but this is more fun,” Chuck says with a fangy little smirk. “And it might be easier for you to be honest if you're distracted. So, first question: do you like being tied up by the cables like this?”

The ripple and flex in Mike’s nook doesn't let up, his neglected bulge is thrashing disconsolately and it's hard to think, much less pull words together. “‘S fine,” he gasps.

“Hmm,” Chuck says. He rubs his thumb over the crest of Mike’s cheekbone, strokes his face, and Mike’s eyes widen. “That's not what I asked, bro,” Chuck says. “I asked if you _liked_ it.” His voice has that sweet, gentle hum to it again, and Mike’s mouth drops open because--that's _pale_ , all soothing and nice and unmistakable, and that doesn't make any sense, Chuck’s in the middle of--doing sexy stuff to him; even if it is with psionics that still counts, doesn't it? He _can't_ be pale while he's doing that, that'd mean one or the other wasn't real, and that's not--Mike _wants_ real, he doesn't want--

“Hey, hey, no,” Chuck says, and his hand moves up into Mike’s hair, strokes, rubs a little near the base of one horn. Mike shivers all over and lets out a strangled chirp, cutting into the middle of the unsettled buzz he didn't realize he was making.

“Shoosh, relax,” Chuck says softly. “What's up, Mikey? Talk to me.”

Mike pants for breath, staring at him as Chuck keeps stroking his hair, scritches his scalp with those incredibly sexy short-clipped claws. It feels so good, Mike wants to press into his touch, give in and purr, but he _can't_ , this isn't how it works. 

“I,” he starts, “I don't--you aren't--are you _vacillating?_ ”

Chuck blinks at him and gives a startled snort of laughter. “No, of course I'm not--” he starts, and freezes. “Oh. Shit. I forgot you're not--shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away and Mike resists the urge to whine forlornly and lean after it. “Fuck, no wonder you're freaking out, dammit, I keep screwing this up!” Chuck groans, and shoves both hands into his hair, taking deep breaths, and Mike wants to deny that he's freaking out except that he really, definitely is.

“But you--that was pale,” he insists, “and this is--we're, you were--” it sounds idiotic but he has to check, he's so lost, “--we were gonna have _sex_ , right?”

Chuck lets out a bark of laughter and runs a hand down his face. “Yes, Mikey, I mean I'd say we're _already_ having sex, given--” he gives Mike a look as the psionic spark shifts, rubbing against the inner walls of Mike’s nook so he catches his breath on a hungry chirr. His legs want to buckle, and he stiffens his knees so he won't be hanging from the cables.

“I just forgot you weren't a helmstech or something,” Chuck sighs, “you don't--you do the whole _quadrant_ thing.” He takes in the way Mike gapes at him, the utterly bewildered and, okay, kind of frazzled chitter-buzz, and nibbles his lip. 

“I'm kind of out of the habit,” he says apologetically. “Helmsmen don't really bother with it a lot of the time, I mean, a lot of our relationships end up being with each other over the network, and when you're never gonna meet face to face anyway you, um, you might as well smear and share quadrants, you know?” He's shrinking in on himself as he finishes, his voice going high and uncertain, fangs pressing into his lip as he watches Mike's face. 

“You--oh,” Mike says, breathless. “Yeah?”

Chuck blinks. “Yeah…?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Mike says again. It feels like he's glowing, like the thought of being _allowed_ to be flushed and pale for Chuck at the same time is lighting him up inside. “Yes, yeah, I want that, Chuckles please I wanna do that, I'm so pale for you, dude, I just--” He lets out a laugh that cracks in the middle, gasps for breath. “I'm so pale, _and_ flushed, I didn't think--I figured you'd think I was gross. I thought I had to pick one.”

“Oh,” Chuck says, soft and startled, a cautious little smile starting. “Oh, wow, Mikey, you--really? I mean. Wow! Yeah, I'm--we can totally do that!” He reaches out, runs his hand down Mike’s cheek pale and tender, then leans in and kisses him deep and hot and flushed. It's so good Mike’s head is spinning, he doesn't know if he wants to moan or purr and ends up making a strangled kind of rasp instead. Chuck pulls back to laugh at him and Mike laughs too because this is _great_ , Chuck is great and sex is great and being able to act on everything he feels is _amazing_. He could do anything right now, if Chuck plugged the helm into him Mike could totally fly the ship like this--

“Shit, you're so hot,” Chuck says, leaning in to nip his ear. “I can't wait til I'm rested enough to pail you myself.”

Mike whines, squirming as much as he can bound up in all these cables, and then lets out a chirring moan when the psionic touch in his nook abruptly starts moving again. Chuck gives him a smug sort of smile and resettles himself in his cable hammock, reaching out to idly rub one of Mike’s horns.

Mike's eyes roll back and he lets out a stuttering purr. It feels so _good_ , soothing him into relaxing and just _feeling_ the pleasure all through his body instead of struggling to withstand it.

“There you go, bro,” Chuck says, his voice all sweet pale harmonics and deeply smug at the same time. “Just chill. And talk to me. You remember the question?”

Mike’s moan comes out broken into pieces by his purr as another spark slides down his thorax and curls around his bulge, pinning it against his abdomen. He gasps for breath. “ _Hahh--_ no?” he says. He thinks he's doing pretty well to remember there _was_ a question, a few minutes or a few sweeps ago.

Chuck clicks at him, too amused for the reproof to sting. “I asked,” he says, “if you _like_ the cables tying you up like this. And if you don't, what would you like better?”

That stops Mike. He doesn't really, but it's not like it's a big deal, so he wasn't going to say anything. But Chuck wants the truth, is problem-solving, so Mike needs to give him the facts, which means he needs to figure out what they are.

“‘S too many,” he manages after some thought. “Don't mind bein’-- _nnh_ \--tied up, but--” he tugs at his arms and legs, struggling a moment, illustrating the heavy bulk of the cables twined around to hold him still. “--Just one or two’d be enough.”

Chuck narrows his eyes. “And you would _like_ that, or would you like something else better?”

Mike swallows. “I'd like it,” he admits hoarsely. The cables aren't moving around him in that vaguely creepy way, aren't threatening to do anything he doesn't want, so it's just the unwieldy bulk of them that's bothering him. If it was just one on each limb to keep him from struggling, like they were holding Chuck still while they made him writhe and chirr and feel good--that'd be different. That'd be… _good_ , he thinks.

Chuck smiles at him, raising the other hand to rub both Mike’s horns at once. “Good, Mikey, good job answering the question.”

Mike makes a shivery noise that's half-swallowed in purring chirps, a wave of contented warmth and pleasure sliding through him at the touch and the praise. He's good, he did good.

The cables curled around him unwrap and retreat back to their tangle above, all but one on each arm and leg. Mike pulls experimentally and there's only a tiny bit of give before the cables tighten and resist the movement, making him catch his breath.

Chuck bites his lip, letting out a squeaky chirr. “ _Fuck_ you're hot,” he groans, and the pressure in Mike’s nook flexes, the spark pressing against his bulge ripples, a series of quick squeezes that has him shaking and crying out. He's close to coming when the touches back off, lighten to a tease again, and the rattling moan of frustration is completely involuntary. His arms tense and jerk against the cables, trying to reach down, relieve the need.

“Next question,” Chuck says cheerfully. “Do you like this?”

Sparks flicker over his grubscars, almost enough with the other touches to push him up to the edge again, and he puts off answering, hoping. Chuck makes a low noise, amused and turned on, and his hands on Mike's horns squeeze gently, working their way down to the bases.

The purr rips out of Mike, throaty and loud as that warm relaxation goes through him again, and the answer spills out without any thought, “ _Yeah, yes I like it, love it, ‘s good, please Chuck wanna come, please lemme please…_ ”

Chuck lets out a rough breath and a rasping chirr that makes Mike chirr back, panting and unsteady.

“Good job,” Chuck says, voice hoarse. “But I want you to wait a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

Mike sucks in a hard breath, rattling in frustration at the thought, but no, he can do it, he totally can. “Yeah,” he says.

Chuck chirrs again, flushed and smiling at him, and yeah, Mike would do anything for him, he'll do whatever Chuck wants. “Cool,” Chuck says, squeaky and breathless, and starts stroking Mike’s face again, going over the pale contact points between his brows and across the top of the bridge of his nose, papping him so good his knees try to give out again so he can sprawl across a proper pile. The cables on his legs add extra coils around his thighs, helping support him, and Mike doesn't have the thinkpan left to mind at the moment, just sags into their hold and relaxes. 

Chuck keeps stroking his face, the sensitive spots along his cheekbones, making him all calm and warm, a purr vibrating his whole thorax. The spark in his nook flexes, rubbing up against the right spots slow enough that the pleasure doesn't really build so much as wash through him, diffuse and lingering. The hold on his bulge shifts at the same gradual pace, a slow, rippling squeeze every few seconds or so.

One of Chuck’s hands moves from Mike’s face down to his grubscars, teases at one while the remaining spark plays over the other one. Mike’s voice seesaws between a low purr and higher chirring as slow heat mixes with the blissful calm. He doesn't need to come anytime soon, he could hang out for ages like this, he feels _amazing_.

“Look at you,” Chuck murmurs, reaching lower to wrap Mike’s bulge around his prongs, squeezing gently so Mike arches and whines. “A respectable green, captain of a newly commandeered vessel, letting your helm get all uppity and full of himself like this. Tying you up, shamelessly using psionics on his captain like it's his place. If this was porn, I'd wear myself out partway through and you'd heroically break free and reassert your commandominance over me.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike says, grinning at him. “We can do-- _nnh_ \--that scene later, how bout. When I'm not-- _hhh_ \--all pacified into jelly.”

Chuck lets out a little chirp and kind of freezes, staring at Mike before letting out a shaky groan. Either he wasn't expecting that suggestion or he's surprised to have Mike admit how effective Chuck’s soothing is.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, “definitely, I uh, we can do that. _Damn_ , Mikey.” He takes a deep breath, paps Mike firmly while squeezing his bulge with the other hand. Mike dissolves back into blissful purr-chirring.

“Okay,” Chuck says. “Next question.”

Mike rattles faintly in complaint before getting distracted again.

“Do you like this?” Chuck asks, and Mike jerks at the brush of another psionic spark over the entrance of his wastechute. Along with all the other touches on him, it makes his eyes roll back, a low, thrumming moan coming out of him before he gets his breath back, pulls himself together to nod, hot-faced. He shouldn't agree, shouldn't want that, has never--done that, been touched there before, but he wants Chuck any way he can get him. If Chuck wants him that way too Mike is more than happy to go along with it. Even if it is mostly psionics so far and not Chuck’s body. It's still good, it's great, this is amazing.

“Cool,” Chuck says, and the spark pushes inside, stretching Mike open and vulnerable this way too. He shivers, head tipping back with a hoarse moan.

“Man, bro,” Chuck mutters, shifting a little in his cable hammock. “You're so hot.” He paps Mike some more, presses the spot between his brows as Mike purrs.

“I always wanted someone to do this with for real instead of just cybering,” Chuck says quietly, like a confession. “Never really thought it'd happen. Not like helmsmen run into each other once they're helmed--it's text hookups or nothing if we wanna meet, and who else would be willing to quadrant-smear with me?”

Mike arches his back, panting as Chuck flexes and shifts both the sparks inside him, gives his bulge a rippling squeeze while his other hand strokes Mike’s cheekbones.

“I knew this would be hot if I could ever do it,” Chuck goes on, still hushed, “but _fuck_ , Mikey. I didn't factor you in. You're like, surface of a sun hot, and you being all kinky smearing like this, letting me do all this stuff to you--” he breaks into a little chirring trill and stops, bites his lip, flushing gold.

Mike chirrs back and purrs again, grinning dazedly at him. It's good that Chuck is happy, likes this, likes _him_. Mike likes it a lot, likes Chuck a lot. He lets his head fall back and makes contented thrumming sounds, warm and pleased and wanting. 

Chuck groans. “If only I wasn't already worn out, I really wish I could--oh! Hey.” He nibbles his lip and smiles slowly. “You want something better than my psionics? Maybe I can't do it, but at least your nook could have a bulge in it,” he suggests, and moves the hand holding Mike's bulge, bringing it lower, low enough to--

“Nnh!” Mike says, his whole body jerking, stiffening. Alarm and dismay force their way through the warm haze of soothing and sex, and he stares at Chuck. He's not--like that, he's not _that_ much of a deviant. Not desperate and pathetic enough to want to self-pail.

Chuck blinks and stops, holding Mike's twisting bulge just out of reach of his nook. “No?”

...If Chuck wants him to do that, though, it shouldn't be a big deal, he'll just say yes. Chuck wouldn't try to humiliate him, so he must want this for a different reason, even if Mike doesn't know what other reason there could be. It's fine, he can ignore the sinking twist in his digestive sac and just--do it, deal with it.

He pants a second, trying to find the will to say _No it's fine go ahead_. He’s almost got it when Chuck’s eyes widen and Mike suddenly realizes that low, grating snarl is coming from _him_ and swallows and coughs to make it stop.

“S-sorry,” Mike starts, and Chuck cuts him off like he didn't even hear.

“Okay, that's a no-go, got it!” he says, and pins Mike's bulge back against his abdomen again. “Kind of weird that you're shy about telling me ‘no’, dude, you gotta work on that.”

“I don't need to, though,” Mike insists, and groans when the sparks inside him shift and pulse. “I-- _hahh_ \--I can--do whatever you want, it's-- _hnn_ \--not a problem!”

Chuck gives him a weird look, thoughtful with a sad edge. “Okay,” he says, and lets go of Mike’s bulge to casually lick off the green slick it left on his hand, making Mike nearly swallow his tongue. Then Chuck reaches up and grabs both Mike's horns and squeezes firmly, and everything goes hazy and soft around the edges, the remaining discomfort and tension dissolving into warmth.

“Talk to me, bro,” Chuck says, and those pale harmonics are back in his voice, that tone that Mike wants to listen to, wants to bare his throat and abdomen and all his soft places for and trust that the claws will never come. “Tell me why you're not saying no.”

Everything, including words, is kind of distant and Mike’s pan is all floaty and peaceful. He needs to answer Chuck, needs to tell the truth, but it doesn't really matter what he says, it's fine, he doesn't need to watch what he admits, for once. It's really nice, to not have to be careful right now.

He takes a breath, eyes sagging closed, and tries to speak through the thick purr coming out of him. “I-- _hh_ \--because, I don't, shouldn't need to,” he mumbles vaguely. “‘M strong enough, I can do it. Can handle it. Take anything you throw at me. Can't say no, ‘s like saying you can't handle it, ‘n I _can_. Swear.”

Chuck gives a long, hissing sigh, still gently working over Mike's horns, keeping everything hazy and sweet and nice. “Okay,” he says after a bit. “Okay, so the Threshecutioner training messed you up pretty good. I knew that, but not… how much. Good to know.”

Mike is pretty sure he ought to protest that, but he's purring hard enough that it sounds more contented than complaining when he says, “‘M not messed up. ‘M… mmreally chill. ‘M really, really papped,” he finishes, and snickers.

Chuck sighs at him and pats his cheek, leans in to kiss him all pale and gentle, and pulls away. Mike opens his eyes, disappointed, and Chuck is lying back in his hammock, his eyes narrowed to glowing blue slits.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “How about this. When you're with me, when we're doing stuff, pale or flushed or whatever, I need to be sure that… it's good for you, I'm doing things right. Okay? So I need to know that you'll tell me if I do something you don't like. _Not_ because I think you couldn't _handle_ it,” he adds with an odd twist to his mouth. “But because I only _want_ to do things you'll like. Does that make sense?”

Mike gives a bewildered shrug, not sure it does but willing to go along. Chuck blows out a breath and nods, and for a second he looks very tired. Mike’s wrists jerk against the cables before he remembers--he wants to reach out, hug Chuck, pap him, something.

“Hey,” he says with a hazy smile, “this isn't right, tied up I can't touch you. Wanna make you feel good, too.”

That gets a snort and a smile, and Chuck looks him up and down, eyes lingering in a way that makes Mike’s face heat despite already being naked and in the middle of kinky quadrant-smearing sex. 

“Sorry, bro,” Chuck says, sounding not sorry at all. “Guess you'll have to wait for later for that. Right now it's my turn to do whatever I want to _you_.”

A moan comes out through Mike’s purr at that and he shivers. 

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “Okay.”

Chuck’s smile broadens. “All right. Let's see how you like this.” Blue sparks flare around his eyes, and Mike jolts as the sparks inside him flare up at the same time, pulsing and rubbing up against the inner walls of his nook and wastechute. More sparks shiver over his grubscars, wrap around his bulge and squeeze, and even through the pacified haze Mike finds himself writhing slowly, moans breaking up his purr. As the heat and want eat away at the floaty peaceful space he's in, he gets louder, twisting and bucking against the cables holding him.

“That's it, Mikey,” Chuck says, breathless. “You just focus on feeling good. I want you to come harder than you've ever come before.”

Mike lets out a shaky, astonished whine. “Gonna need a pail,” he gasps. “Don't wanna-- _hh_ \--mess up your helmsblock--”

“Oh,” Chuck says, “um, I don't have one in here, dude. The biocables absorb the material for nutrients, it's not an issue.”

Distracted as Mike is, that takes a minute to hit home, and then he lets out a buzzing chirr, equal parts unnerved and turned on. “ _Hahh_ , wha--seriously, I should just--you want me to--?”

“Yeah, you don't have to retain it, they'll take care of it,” Chuck says, as casually as if feeding genetic material to a helmscolumn isn't incredibly kinky and weird.

Mike can't really think about it, though, because Chuck’s psionics are still touching him all over, and if anyone could hold onto their thoughts through that, Mike would be impressed. His hips are rocking into the pulsing fizz of the sparks inside him, and he's making a lot of noise, one long thrumming moan after another, when Chuck makes a hungry little chirr and all the sparks suddenly spike higher where they touch Mike, buzzing fiercely and flexing against every sensitive spot he has. Mouth falling open around a choked yelp, he spasms in the cables and comes in long, endless shudders, mind wiped blank.

It takes a long time to stop because every time he starts to come down, Chuck lets the softly fizzing sparks flare up a little, just enough to throw Mike into another aftershock. Finally, when he's whimpering and twitching with overstimulation, Chuck takes mercy on him and lets the sparks die away.

Then he's just hanging limp in the cables, breathing hard and trying to get his thinkpan to function again. His head is hanging, and when he finally gets his eyes to focus, he realizes there's a tangle of cables between his knees so thick he can't see the floor, covered in a green spill of slurry that's oddly patchy. Even as he watches, a splotch of green fades away, absorbed into the surface of the cable.

Okay, well. Looks like the helmscolumn is enjoying its snack.

“Hey,” Chuck says. “You doing okay, bro?”

Mike lifts his head and grins, giddy. “Heck yeah! Are you kidding, buddy, I'm _awesome!_ That was… geez! Really, really good.” He tugs at the cables, trying to reach out to Chuck, and huffs when they don't let him go.

Chuck snickers and the cables forming his hammock shift to set him on his feet, where he staggers a little, steadying himself with a flicker of sparks. “What's wrong, Mikey? You want something?”

“Yeah, I wanna hug you! And maybe kiss some more,” he adds shyly.

Chuck’s fangy smirk softens to something fond and gentle. “Okay. We can do that,” he says, and the cables tug and nudge Mike upright before carefully unwinding and withdrawing their support.

Mike’s knees are still shaky, but it's only a couple of steps to Chuck, and then he's wrapped around his best friend, holding tight and breathing in the familiar scent of electricity and sweat. (Best friend--matesprit and moirail? Matesprail, maybe, or moirsprit? Whatever, figure out the words later.)

“Y’r ‘mazing,” he mumbles into Chuck’s neck, and reaches up to squeeze gently at the base of one forked horn. Chuck buzzes in shock and wobbles on his feet.

“ _Ah!_ Mikey! Not here, dude, wait till we're back in our block, okay? You pap me here and I'll pass out on the floor, and my ‘coon’s way more comfortable.”

“Oooh, ‘coon, yeah,” Mike says with longing. It's been a very long and busy night, and with that crazy orgasm to top it off he's feeling pretty wrung out.

“Ablutions first, then ‘coon,” Chuck says firmly. “Since the biocables didn't, um, have free rein with you, you got a lot stickier than I did.”

Mike mumbles some kind of agreement and keeps hanging onto Chuck, who snorts after a minute.

“I can float you naked through the ship if you _want_ , bro, but otherwise--”

Mike rattles grumpily and peels himself away.

“--You're gonna have to get dressed,” Chuck finishes. “Yeah, that's what I thought.”

Mike wrestles his clothes on over wet and sticky skin, grimacing, and catches Chuck by the wrist as he tugs his shirt down over his thorax. “Hey,” he says softly. “Pity you.”

Chuck’s chirp in response sounds kind of strangled, but he's going yellow again, so that's a good thing. “Me too,” he says, voice cracking, and ducks in to kiss Mike slow and sweet, prongs sliding up into Mike’s hair so his eyelids flutter. It seems kind of flushed, but kind of pale too, and Mike wastes a minute trying to figure out which it is before remembering--it's both. They're both. He feels weirdly light, like the ship’s gravity is malfunctioning, but it's just knowing that he doesn't have to hide it anymore. Chuck’s okay with it, he feels the same way.

“I'm gonna tell everybody,” Mike says when Chuck finally pulls away. Mike can't stop grinning, too delighted not to want to share it with the rest of his crew, but Chuck squeaks and hunches up.

“Um! Do you really think that's a good plan, bro? I mean, a lot of people think quadrant smearing is… kind of gross, you know. Freakish. Kind of like psionics are,” he adds bitterly.

“Aw, come on, buddy, our crew’s not like that!” Mike says, squeezing his shoulder. “We're rebels anyway, doesn't it make sense for us to break whatever rules we want?”

“Trust you to think of it like that,” Chuck mumbles, rubbing his hands over his face. “Look, can we just, can we sleep on it today? Talk about it later, decide when we're rested and coherent?”

“Sure, dude,” Mike says, and slings an arm around him. Then he grins again. “Guess that means it's gotta be before your next shift, since you probably can't think that clear when the helm’s melting your pan, huh?”

Chuck huffs and jabs him with a pointy elbow. “Shut _up_ , geez. I'll melt _your_ pan.”

“Already did that, buddy,” Mike says happily. “It was amazing.” He tugs Chuck toward the door and Chuck comes along, grumbling at him.

“You’re _bubbling_ , Mikey. Anybody who sees you is going to know right away what you've been up to, and they'll say something, and then you'll tell them everything because you can't keep a secret for the life of you, and then everything will be horrible and weird and we'll lose our crew--”

“Dude,” Mike says, “it's dayshift. Dutch and Texas are in their ‘coons and Julie’s on the bridge.”

Chuck still tenses unhappily before unlocking the door, and Mike only hesitates a minute before raising a hand to Chuck’s nearer horn again and squeezing. “Shoosh,” he says as Chuck staggers with a buzz.

“Mike,” Chuck gasps, “ _nh_ \--I told you--”

“Yeah, I guess we better hurry so you don't pass out here!” Mike says. “Maybe you should float yourself,” he suggests, and tugs him down the hallway. Chuck’s feet lift off the floor in two steps, and he's purring dazedly by halfway down the hall.

Mike’s gonna soothe him til he can't see straight, stop him from being anxious at all for a while. Then he'll put him to ‘coon, and then in the evening maybe they can pail for real. Yeah, that sounds great.

Towing Chuck by one arm and a horn, Mike grins and walks faster.

**Author's Note:**

> Roachpatrol drew me fanart!!! Blessings upon his house forever. [Here is his adorable pic](https://rollerskatinglizard.tumblr.com/post/172241787346/roachpatrol-mike-and-chuck-as-cute-troll-boys) of Mike and Chuck cuddling (clothed, sfw)! *swoons*


End file.
